


A Warden in Kirkwall

by WardenCommanderCousland



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Mild Smut, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 12:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13740978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WardenCommanderCousland/pseuds/WardenCommanderCousland
Summary: "They say the Knight-Captain hates mages. Do you?""I don't hate you."





	A Warden in Kirkwall

The Grey Wardens were in Kirkwall. Knight-Captain Cullen raised a hand to shield his eyes from the burning evening sun, stubbornly settled between The Twins. Evening watch was the worst, knowing you’d be blind for a good ten minutes, but Cullen firmly believed that if he were to ask any of those under his command to fill the position, he should be willing to do so himself.

It was in the brilliant, blood-red glare that the form of a mage approached him, sunlight flashing across embossed griffons on her armor. Cullen scowled and adjusted his posture. The Wardens had snatched Bethany Hawke out from under the Circle’s fingers, and he didn’t feel like being reminded of that particular failure just now. The city was on the brink of a meltdown.

But something was different, this mage was shorter, had longer hair. And curly. It wasn’t Bethany coming to taunt him. Maker’s mercy, how many apostates did the Grey Wardens have among their ranks?

The mage stopped directly in front of him, the outline of her tugging at his memory. “Cullen.”

The sound of her voice threatened to shatter every inch of Cullen’s soul. He hadn’t heard that voice in years. The last he’d seen of Solana Amell, he’d been screaming at her in rage, still seething from the torture he’d suffered at the hands of Uldred and his fraternity of blood mages. He couldn’t bring himself to understand why she wouldn’t let Greagoir annul Kinloch Hold, why she would still risk the mass possession of all that remained. Shouldn’t a mage know better than anyone what risks lay with leaving everyone as they were?

And yet, once his temper had settled, he regretted his words. This was Solana, the girl who whispered around corners at him and set his heart on fire. On his lonelier nights, she’d tug at the edge of his consciousness, her red curls twining around his fingers as he’d catch her in the library, out in the garden, roaming the halls after curfew…

He knew it was forbidden, knew it was a mistake, but he was young then, just took his vows. And just learned what it would mean for him to regret them. There were rules, but like any young man, he knew better.

Cullen finally found his voice. “Solana.”

She took a step closer, reaching out to touch the still-healing cut on his lip. She smelled the same as she always had, of lemons and ozone, the girl who called lightning down from the sky with a thought.

“I’m on duty,” he said reflexively, brushing her fingers away from his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Cullen caught Thrask turning away from them in the setting sun. “What are you doing here?”

“Chasing rumors,” Solana said. She shouldered her stave. “Bethany Hawke wants to investigate the thaig she found with her sister.”

“Her sister is a maelstrom of trouble,” Cullen groaned, casting his gaze across the Gallows. Sure enough, Marion Hawke was conducting business, probably another underhanded business transaction, with her entourage. This time it was the dwarf, Varric, and that so-called pirate who always made a point to proposition Cullen. And that apostate, the one who ran the clinic in Darktown that always seemed to be closed.

“So, I’ve heard,” Solana said, following his gaze. Her eyes narrowed briefly but she shook it off. “How much longer do you have to work?”

Cullen nudged the pommel of his sword towards the belltower atop the Gallows. “Eighth bell.”

“I’ve taken a room at the Hanged Man,” Solana said, turning back into the sun. She let her hand fall across his wrist, finding the thin strip of bare skin between the gauntlet and the sleeve of his uniform with well-practiced familiarity. Cullen stifled a shiver. “Come ‘round and I’ll buy you a drink. For old times’ sake.”

Cullen tried to tell her that the inn was hardly reputable but she laughed and waved him off as she left, taking the stairs into Lowtown.

~

Even in plainclothes, Cullen felt conspicuous in Lowtown. Everything about the way he walked, the carriage of his posture, the precision in his gait, screamed ‘Templar’. He felt eyes trailing his every movement all the way to the Hanged Man’s door.

“Curly! What brings you to Kirkwall’s finest tavern?” Varric’s voice boomed across the bar, where he was once again holding court. The pirate was leaning against the bar signaling for drinks with the sulky elf. “Join us, and I’ll deal you in.”

“The day you convince me to play cards with you will be a dark one, indeed, dwarf.”

Varric laughed. “You’re just worried you’ll lose all of your fancy armor to me.”

Cullen shook his head as he climbed the stairs and faced down the row of boarding rooms. Maker help him, he came here with no plan and wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to meet her up here or down in the bar.

He wandered the row of doors, mostly shut, until he came to a cracked one. As he passed, a string of the most profane mix of Ferelden and – was that _qunlat?_ – curses drifted out.

Solana was out of her armor, in just a cotton shift and leggings, trying to start a fire in the hearth. Cullen took the torch from its brazier and held it out to her. She waved him away with one hand, twisting the other in an attempt to call fire from the Fade.

“You know, you could get arrested for apostasy for doing that here,” he said carefully.

“Are you planning to turn me in?” Solana challenged. Tiny yellow flames sparked from her palm and danced out towards her fingertips.

Cullen shook his head and took a step back. Nearly a decade living among mages and he was still unsettled by their abilities.

“Besides, the Grey Wardens outrank the Circle in deciding whether or not I get to ‘run free’ like one of your friends has already accused me of doing.” A log finally caught. Solana grabbed the iron poker and pushed it further into the hearth. “Andraste’s knickers, you can’t even buy bread in this city without someone threatening to turn you Tranquil.

 “They say the Knight-Captain hates mages,” Solana said. She turned and set her dark brown eyes on him. “Do you?”

“I don’t hate you,” Cullen said, reaching for her hand. She pulled away.

“I didn’t ask if you hate _me_ , I asked if you hate mages.”

“Sol,” Cullen pleaded. A familiar yearning was growing deep inside. Maker, if she would only hold still long enough to let him kiss her.

Her eyes were dark and reflected the firelight behind him. “Answer me, Cullen.”

Solana began pacing the room, fussing with her hair as she always did. Pulling it into a tail, shaking it loose again, twirling her fingers through into a braid, pushing the ends of it over each shoulder. Cullen sighed. “I don’t _hate_ mages. But Kirkwall has a serious problem with the use of blood magic--”

“And your Knight-Commander’s solution is to make every last one Tranquil.” Solana turned to face him, critical.

Her eyes were accusing. Cullen swallowed. “It’s only for mages who haven’t passed their Harrowing. You know that.”

 “That’s not what I’ve heard.” Solana stopped and wiped her brow, leaving a small trail of ash beneath her red curls. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask you here to chastise you.”

Cullen shifted uncomfortably. “Why did you ask me here?”

“I…I don’t know really.” Her expression was suddenly shy. “I thought maybe…”

She looked behind him suddenly. “Oh, sod it.” She pushed past Cullen and slammed the door, forcing the lock. Then she turned back to him and pulled him into a deep kiss.

Cullen drank her in, letting the years, the anger, and the regret fall away. He’d dreamed of a moment like this, a real, daring kiss from Solana, not the stolen ones in dark corners, for ages, until the day First Enchanter Irving allowed that Grey Warden to take her away. Of course, he’d been angry with her then, for helping the maleficar Jowan escape. That anger was gone now.

There was nothing left but Solana. Cullen trailed his hands down her sides, thinner and more muscled than he remembered, resting on the narrow curve of her hips. Everything about her felt smaller, harder than he remembered. Years on the road did that to you, he thought. But this muscle didn’t come from simply twirling a stave and pointing it in the right direction.

“You learned to use a sword,” Cullen murmured, placing one hand on top of her arm where it was wrapped around his neck.

Solana pulled away from the kiss and dropped her hand, resting it on his leg. “You’d be surprised what I can do with a sword now,” she whispered.

Cullen felt all the heat growing in his abdomen rush towards his face. “Tha-that’s not what I meant,” he stammered.

“Well,” Solana trailed her fingers across the growing bulge at the front of Cullen’s trousers. “It is what _I_ meant.” Her fingers found the laces holding his pants squarely on his hips. She deftly loosened the knot and tugged the waistband just low enough to release his penis.

“Solana,” Cullen moaned as she began to kiss it, and sucked in a breath as she took him into her mouth. She’d caught him like this once at the Circle, and he spent the better part of the week afterward reciting the Canticle of Transfigurations, alternately reveling in and feeling shame at the memory.

Unlike the last time though, she pulled her mouth away as he was starting to throb. “I see you’ve missed me, too.” She said coyly, reaching for the string holding the front of her shift together.

Cullen pulled her up to meet him and slid his hands under her shirt, pulling it overhead to reveal the skin beneath. He blinked momentarily, taking in Solana’s scars, her souvenirs from her years with the Wardens, then pulled her back to him. He kissed her again, with more hunger than before.

They stumbled, locked together, across the guestroom until the backs of Cullen’s knees found the bed. He fell backwards, pulling Solana on top of him. The mage settled herself across his lap, pressing firmly on his now aching erection. “We should probably get rid of the rest of these.”

Cullen was only too happy to push her off for the brief moment it took to remove his shirt, because it seemed as though she was on him again in a flash, sliding her slick channel over him.

He’d spent more than enough nights thinking about Solana riding him, working him until every last drop was spent, and the thought combined with the physical event nearly brought him to climax in an instant. He bit his tongue to draw his focus away from the redhead’s gyrations, but it wasn’t enough. Within moments he gave in to his orgasm and allowed the spasms to ripple throughout his body.

“Dear, sweet Andraste,” he said, his voice still husky and hoarse from lust.

“It’s Solana, actually,” she said, pushing her sweat-matted curls away from her face as she slid off him.

Cullen tilted his head back to face the ceiling. “I’m sorry, it isn’t usually—”

Solana laughed. “It’s fine. We have all night.” She walked her fingers up his torso, tracing the line of fine blonde hair that trailed up towards his navel.

The words had no sooner left her mouth when an explosion outside shook every wall of the inn. Shrieks and yells echoed up the stairs.

“I’ve gotta find Bianca!” Varric’s voice carried down the hall, clearly arguing with someone. Hawke probably. Of course, she’d be involved.

“Stay here,” Cullen said, staying Solana with a raised hand. He grabbed his trousers and pulled them on, not bothering to tie them just yet. Varric was swinging his crossbow over his shoulder.

An elf servant was dashing in the other direction, panic etched on her face. Cullen caught her by the arm. “What’s going on?”

“The qunari are attacking!”


End file.
